


Christmas Time

by bry0psida



Series: Harringrove Advent [25]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Imma be real most of these characters have fuck all lines they're just There, Light Angst, Light Smut, M/M, One Shot, Romance, They all get one I think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bry0psida/pseuds/bry0psida
Summary: Steve’s parents are away for yet another Christmas. Steve doesn’t want to spend it alone. Billy makes sure he doesn’t have to.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Series: Harringrove Advent [25]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558885
Comments: 17
Kudos: 110





	Christmas Time

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a Bryan Adam's song.

Billy damn near revealed all when he told Steve they couldn’t spend Christmas day together.

_“So, I was thinking…” Steve trails off, keeps tracing circles into Billy’s bare chest with a fingertip._

_“Mmm?” Billy hums._

_“I was thinking…maybe we could spend Christmas day together?” Crap. “My parents are gonna be out of town again, and I know your dad’s a piece of shit, but I thought maybe you could swing by after dinner or something?”_

_It’s a struggle to say no to Steve at the best of times, let alone when he asks so sweetly. “I don’t think so, baby.”_

_Steve stops tracing circles, retracts his hand real slow. “Oh,” he says, all soft and sad. “Ok then.”_

He was lying, of course. There’s no way Billy’s letting him spend the day alone. Steve’s been sulking ever since. Every other person he’s asked has said no too. Billy feels fucking awful about it, wants to tell him the truth more than anything, but it’s out of his hands now. The surprise has taken weeks to coordinate, money’s been spent, everyone’s in on it.

_“Maybe we could do something in the morning, though? Neil always sleeps late. If you get up early we could drive to the woods or something, fool around or do presents.”_

_“That’d be nice,”_

…

It’s a lonely Christmas eve. Steve’s used to it, should’ve known better than to expect anything different this year. Holiday’s are for family, and Steve doesn’t have one of those, not really. Friends are friends and boyfriends are boyfriends, they’re not family. Steve feels like a bit of a chump for asking so many people if they’ll have him over. He thought at least one person would say yes.

He’s spending it with a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of whiskey and Ordinary People. He’s kind of torturing himself with the flick, but he wants to cry a little and thinking about how lonely he is isn’t cutting it, so living vicariously through fiction’ll have to do.

…

“Steve,”

Someone’s shaking his shoulder. His head is pounding, his face is smushed into the couch cushion. It’s not comfy at all. There’s no way he’s moving.

“Mmmmmph,”

“Steve, baby, wake up.”

“ _Mmmm_ , don’t wanna.”

A hand strokes through his hair, scratches at his scalp lightly. It’s nice, real nice.

“You want me to make breakfast?”

Steve’s stomach roils at the mention of food. _Uh oh_. Billy seems to know what’s coming, dashes into the kitchen for the plastic tub that lives in the sink, gets it by the side of the couch in time for Steve to vomit into it. Billy rubs his back through it, coos _get it all out baby, that’s it_.

Steve spits into the tub, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and flops onto his back, groans when it makes his brain shift painfully in his skull. Billy disappears with the vomit and comes back with some crackers, a glass of water, a can of coke and two aspirin. Billy sits him up, drops the aspirin on his tongue and holds the water to his lips. Steve drinks a little, snatches the glass out of Billy’s hand and starts chugging when he realises how god damn thirsty he is. Billy laughs at him a little, holds out the box of crackers. Steve shoves three in his mouth in one go.

“Feeling better?”

“Uh huh,” Steve says round a mouthful of crackers.

“Think you could hold something heavier down?”

“Probably,”

Billy squeezes Steve’s cracker-less hand, pecks him on the temple.

“Why don’t you go shower while I make you something?”

“Ok,” Steve wants to crawl up to the bathroom, but that’d mean admitting how hard he hit the bottle last night though, and he doesn’t want Billy to feel guilty. Not his fault the morning’s all he can give Steve. It’s a slow, wobbly walk to the stairs. Billy doesn’t say anything. When Steve’s sure Billy isn’t shadowing him he sits down, scoots up the stairs on his ass, feels the world spin with each subsequent step.

…

Billy kind of wants to cry. Steve’s a mess. He’s hiding it well, but Billy knows what to look for. It’s painful watching him struggle to walk in a straight line out of the room. He knew Steve’d take it hard, but shit, he even got cigarettes. He quit smoking 6 months ago. The surprise was a terrible idea. Billy just hopes it’s enough to make up for this colossal fuck up.

He puts everything he has into making Steve’s favorite breakfast. At least, it’s what Billy _thinks_ is Steve’s favorite breakfast. He can rustle anything up on a plate and Steve’ll look at Billy like he hung the moon himself. Everything tastes amazing, and everything is his favourite. Billy thought he was just easy to please, but he’s a picky bastard at diners.

Billy asked him about it once, why he’ll eat any crap Billy makes that he knows is worse than stuff they’ve bought before. _It just tastes different_ , he’d said. _It tastes different when the person who made it loves you_. Billy’s doing his damn best to pour all the love he has into the full breakfast. He’s glad he brought food, fridge is abysmal as usual. Poor Steve, probably wasn’t even gonna cook for himself. Billy can see it, Steve’d either drive out of town for one of the few lonely diners and probably eat there, or worse, just stay home and eat canned soup with sad movies.

He skipped breakfast himself to eat with Steve, glad for it now, this is gonna taste miles better than oatmeal.

…

Steve emerges from the shower feeling like a new man. He’s still hungover, but he took the coke in with him and the sugar’s done wonders. He wraps his floppy wet hair up in a towel ‘cause he knows Billy thinks it’s cute, throws on his comfiest pajamas and gravitates towards the smell of meat and eggs.

He’s not disappointed when he pads into the kitchen. There’s a fresh pot of coffee and a pitcher of orange juice on the table, Billy’s in the middle of moving the eggs from the pan to the plates to join the bacon and sausage. There’s toast in the toast holder, butter in the dish, he even got out the fucking napkins. Steve feels pinpricks erupt across his eyes.

“Good shower, baby?” Billy asks, eyes on the food. Steve settles behind him, gets his arms around Billy’s waist and buries his face in Billy’s neck.

He whispers, “Thank you,” throat thick with emotion. Billy holds the hot pan away, leans his head against Steve’s for a few quiet moments.

“Food’s gonna get cold,” he says.

Steve nods into his neck but doesn’t move otherwise, just holds him tighter. Billy exhales. “You don’t want it?”

“I want it,” Steve’s voice is muffled in his neck. “Just want you more.” Steve presses his hips into Billy’s hips, the suggestion of a grind. Something about domesticity and kindness just gets Steve going. Billy laughs, disentangles himself from Steve.

“You’ll get your Christmas nookie after breakfast,”

Steve huffs. “Fine.”

He sits down, pours himself a cup of coffee before buttering a piece of toast. Billy pours himself a glass of OJ, keeps watching Steve with this sad little look on his face.

“How was your night?” Billy asks.

Steve takes a bite of his toast. “’S good.”

“Steve,”

“What? It was good.”

“You watched Ordinary People,”

“What’s wrong with Ordinary People?”

“You only watch it when you want to cry but can’t,”

It’s one of those days where Steve could really do with being less transparent. There’s no point in talking about it. It’s no one’s fault. Just is what it is.

Steve doesn’t respond, just keeps eating his breakfast. Billy sighs and joins him.

…

Billy’s trying to not let the guilt distract him too much, only another hour and a half to keep up the ruse.

“I don’t get why we can’t just fool around in my bed,” Steve complains from the passenger seat.

“It’s more fun in the car, gotta work a little for it.”

“You only like doing it in here ‘cause it makes the car stink and you get off on the smell,”

Billy smiles at Steve, tongue between his teeth. “Guilty.”

He stops in their usual spot at the quarry, right at the top. They missed the sunrise but the sky’s still got some colour left, a little orange in the blue. Billy doesn’t have long to admire it before Steve’s pulling on the release for his seat and he’s sliding down.

Steve fumbles through the tapes, digs out his copy of Madman Across The Water by Elton John and puts it on. Steve’s a real sap when it comes to the music they play when they fuck. It’s cute as hell, Steve’s a hopeless romantic through and through. Billy allowed it at first, now he loves it as much as Steve does.

Steve straddles Billy as Tiny Dancer starts playing, smiling something wicked as he laces their fingers together and pins Billy’s hands above his head. Billy stretches underneath him, angles his neck to the side so Steve can ghost kisses up and down the column of his throat. Steve starts out soft, feather light presses of lips to neck and across his jaw. He nudges Billy’s nose with his own, rubs the tips together a few times before kissing him.

Billy gasps a little when their lips meet, tries to surge up and kiss Steve back. Steve leans away, starts nibbling on Billy’s un-pierced ear instead, lightly grinds into his lap. Billy groans at the contact, tries not to squirm as Steve draws it out.

Steve likes it long and slow. Billy does too, he’s just not all that patient when he’s the one on the bottom. Steve knows this and takes advantage of it, likes getting him flustered. He’s doing a damn good job, sucking on Billy’s ear and moaning like it’s the best damn thing he’s ever tasted, thumbing Billy’s nipples through his shirt, lifting his hips when Billy bucks up.

Billy’s just along for the ride today, gotta let Steve take him where they’re going at his own pace.

He moans when Steve gets his tongue in Billy’s ear, pants all hot into it, “Tell me there’s lube in here, I forgot to grab mine.”

Billy nods. “Glove compartment.”

…

Two blowjobs, one flipfuck and a particularly drawn out ride on Billy’s face later, they're back at Steve’s house, idling outside. Steve’s trying to hold it together, knows he’s lucky to have had as special a morning with Billy as he’s had so far, but he can’t not think about how lonely the rest of his day is gonna be. He's always hated the holidays.

“You wanna open your present in here, or go inside?” Billy asks.

“Let’s go in,”

“Alright,”

Billy grabs the wrapped box off the back seat and gets out of the car. Steve follows him, tries not to drag his feet. He digs his keys out of his pocket, stills on the porch when he notices the twin wreaths on the doors.

“What’s this?”

“You don’t know what a wreath is?”

“Oh for christ sake. This wasn’t here when we left, right?”

Billy shrugs.

Steve unlocks the door, doesn’t step inside. There’s tinsel and ribbons on the bannister, a little stuffed snowman on the table where a lamp used to be, whole house smells like turkey. Steve’s heart thumps in his chest.

“Billy, what’s going on?”

Billy rests a hand on his low back, guides Steve forward. “You’ll see.”

They walk into the living room, Steve damn near shits himself when he sees it filled with people pulling party poppers and yelling ‘ _Surprise!_ ’ at him. Steve clutches his chest, tries to catch his breath. All the kids are here, so’s Joyce and Hopper, even Jonathan and Nancy.

“What is- why are you all here?”

“We wanted to surprise you!” Dustin exclaims.

“Consider me surprised,”

Joyce jerks a thumb over her shoulder. “I really should get back to the kitchen before the potatoes get too runny.” She pats Steve on the arm as she rushes past. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“You have no idea how hard it was to keep all this a secret,” Nancy says. “I almost told you like five times.”

“I still don’t get what’s going on,”

“We’re doing Christmas together, dingus.” Max says.

“You’re all staying?” They nod. “You’re all here to eat food and watch bad movies and play shitty board games?”

Mike shrugs. “I don’t know ‘bout shitty ones, but-“

Will holds up a well used box. “I brought D&D!”

Lucas scoffs. “Steve’s not gonna wanna play D&D.”

“He might!” Will looks at him. “ _Do_ you wanna play D&D?”

Steve’s heart feels like it’s about to burst. His voice cracks a little. “Sure, that uh…that sounds like fun.”

“Told you!” Will says in Lucas’ face. He sits on the rug and starts setting up on the coffee table, the other boys and Max join him.

Jonathan holds up his video camera. “Robin wanted to come but her parents wouldn’t let her, so she recorded a message for you instead.”

“Really?” Jonathan nods with a shy smile.

Steve feels like he’s in shock. This is way too good to be true. He turns to Billy. “Pinch me.”

Billy’s eyes flicker down to his ass before focusing on his face again. Steve just looks at him, holds out an arm. Billy indulges.

“You’re not dreaming, baby.” Billy whispers low.

El and Hopper step forward, each handing him a present wrapped in the same paper. Steve takes them, speechless. Hopper claps him on the shoulder. “Merry Christmas, kid. Hope we’re not too much of an imposition." Steve shakes his head slowly, eyes roaming across the little mountain of presents under the Christmas tree in the corner of the room.

“You’re not imposing at all,”

Hopper excuses himself for a smoke, Nancy and Jonathan follow him out to the kitchen. El’s smiling up at Steve, all sweet and wide eyed. “Merry Christmas, Steve.” She says before joining the rest of the kids.

“Did you do all of this?” Steve asks.

“Not _all_ of it, Nancy decorated, Joyce and Jonathan have been cooking, the video was Robin’s idea-“

“No, I mean, did you organise this? This was all your idea?”

“Yeah,” Billy says it soft and earnest with the hint of a smile.

Steve swallows his tears, clears his throat, grasps Billy’s hand tight behind the shield of their bodies.

“Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“Merry Christmas, Steve.”

**Author's Note:**

> Holy fuck. H o l y f u c k.
> 
> I cannot believe I have written every single day for 27 days (got started on the series at the very last minute before posting.) This has been an unbelievable and incredible experience. I've wanted to write fanfiction for years and never had the courage to dip my toes in the water. I gave it a real go about 6 months ago and posed my first one shot, then had a major confidence crash after. I started this series on impulse to try and fill the empty spaces in my life and it's really delivered.
> 
> I'm a person with less than no confidence, and having so many of you coming back to read this series, leaving lovely comments and kudos and bookmarks, it means more than I can say. This has been the best month I've had in a really, really long time and everyone who's taken the time to read my fics has had a hand in that. So thank you, every single one of you, for the kind words and thoughts and for thinking something I made is good enough to spend time on. Y'all fucking rock.
> 
> Also, the fun isn't over just yet! I love suffering and working too hard, so I'm also starting and posting a 12 days of Harringrove series a couple hours after this goes up. Eat your fucking hearts out, fellow shippers. Merry Christmas.


End file.
